


Now You Can Hardly Stand It

by Emilys_List



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Challenge Response, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-19
Updated: 2004-09-19
Packaged: 2019-05-15 20:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14797655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilys_List/pseuds/Emilys_List
Summary: the path of indecision leads nowhere.





	Now You Can Hardly Stand It

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Now You Can Hardly Stand It**

**by: emily's list**

**Character(s):** Donna, Amy  
**Pairing(s):** Amy, Donna  
**Category(s):** Angst, Challenge, Slash  
**Rating:** ADULT  
**Summary:** The path of indecision leads nowhere.  
**Author's Note:** The über challenge (features challenges about colour, Aimee Mann, sound, whispers, lies and/or truth, love and/or hate, art, food, not Josh, firsts and/or lasts, hot and/or cold, and exhaustion) This started off as angsty-fluff. I thought, hey, I'll jam a lot of challenges together, and a good time will be had by all. Then I wrote a line, and it completely changed. Yay for surprises... sorry if this doesn't make sense. 

"And I know life is getting shorter," Aimee Mann tells us as sleep drifts over our nearly-naked bodies. 

We're spent from lovemaking -- a new for us. Lovemaking. 

We've upgraded from fucking. 

Nearly silent, we listen to each other breathe. 

I can barely hear her sometimes; I strain to hear her in the same way that I can watch her chest rise and fall. 

She is the palest lover I've ever had. When our bodies touch, our skin blurs together and I can't tell where she ends and I begin. 

Her skin seems chaste, pure. But it flushes deeply red when my mouth descends upon the pinkish-brown of her nipples. 

If I could paint her (which I can't do because I'm terrible with art supplies), I would use white and reddish-brown. I would create a throbbing, pulsing being that pushes against boundaries and limits. 

She pulls the sheet up, past her breasts, as the chill of early morning comes through my window. She shivers, and I move closer in response. 

"Are you asleep?" she whispers. 

"No," I whisper back. "Why are we whispering?" 

"Quiet reverence for your tongue." She reaches out to trace my lips with her fingertips. 

"Aren't you tired?" I ask. 

"I'm beginning to enjoy feeling this tired," she tells me as she offers a lopsided smile. 

It is in this moment that my cellphone: (a) rings loudly and (b) vibrates violently against my bedside table. We don't have to look at it to know who it is. 

"Don't pick it up" and "I'm not answering" are muttered at the same time. 

"Not that it's him," I say. 

"Him who? Not Josh," she answers as she smoothes one hand over my hip. 

"He's going to want to know where I was," I whisper, almost to myself. 

"Do you care?" she shoots back. 

I shake my head, no, but no is not all I'm feeling. 

Being in love with two people has affected my ability to feel a singular emotion. 

"We should go get breakfast," she offers, restless. 

"Yeah," I say, glancing at the clock, "It's 5:11 AM." 

"There are plenty of breakfast places open... right now." The hand that smoothed over my hip now wraps around my waist, holding me close. "I could go for some eggs, toast..." She buries her face in my neck, and kisses the skin there. "Coffee," she mumbles against my skin. I can feel as one hand gropes down my stomach and between my legs. "Home fries," she says. I can feel her smiling as I squirm. "Doesn't that sound good?" she asks as she flicks my clit. 

I nod as I silently wish for her tongue. 

My phone rings and vibrates again, and I reach up just enough to knock it to the floor. A part of me keeps staring at it -- in its place next to her black bra. 

Something makes her stop. She removes her fingers, and I miss the friction. "You were supposed to meet him last night," she asks/says, her words hovering between a question and statement. 

I don't answer her. I don't even give her silent acknowledgment this time. 

"You chose me last night," she says, pleased. Her mouth moves down my front, kissing the skin between my breasts. 

I didn't make a choice, I never do. I end up where I end up, a startling occurrence that's beginning to frighten me as I move into my thirties. 

I don't tell her this; I let silence weave a web around us. Her mouth descends lower, her tongue dipping into my belly button. 

Something makes me stop her. I stroke her hair, I hold the sides of her face. "You're not my always," I tell her, and even as I say it, I have no clue what it means. She takes a moment for confusion, and kisses my inner thigh. 

"What you need is a good night's sleep... which you won't be getting." She smiles wickedly as she kisses my sex. 

I lie there, my eyes wide open. I stare at my ceiling until my orgasm collides with my body. 

I wonder when she started getting off on possession -- my new, least favorite trait about both of them. 

As she was going down on me, my phone rang and vibrated several times. Why I didn't just turn it off is beyond me. 

Or, rather, it's not beyond me. Why I don't shut him out, why I lie to her... the reasons for this hover around me like a force field. 

She expects reciprocation, and I don't mind, but my mind wanders as my tongue moves. I can't choose one or the other; this would mean they're separate in my mind. 

I'm in love with two people, but that love culminates in one love that moves me while simultaneously stifling who I am and who I want to be. I can't separate them and I can't leave them both. 

Instead, I operate in limbo. 

I'm thinking this over as I lick her clit. She comes, holding onto my hair and crying my name. 

I'm very careful about names, lest I use the wrong one. I take love triangle etiquette very seriously. 

I slink up her body, kissing her flushed skin as I go. 

I think about the skin we kiss, the lies we tell, the hearts we demand entrance to. 

I think about these parts of me that don't add up. 

"No, it's not going to stop, so just... give up," Aimee Mann finishes. The CD turns to random music that no longer continues to be Aimee Mann. 

I am left in perfect, heartbreaking silence as Amy drifts off. 

This is the only ending I'll get.


End file.
